all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)
by progpoet
Summary: She felt an acute, sudden pain upon realizing that she wanted nothing more than to climb inside Santana's heart and fix whatever damage had been done to it, because, well, someone should. No one, she declared silently, should have to live her life feeling like a cornered animal, snarling and slashing at anything that got too close. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)**

Where it began, exactly, Santana could not say. She couldn't put her finger on a particular moment, or a single event, that marked when Rachel Berry had become something more to her than just a short girl with a huge voice. More than a classmate, or the captain of the Glee Club. More, even, than just the most unlikely friend she could ever have imagined herself having.

When she became _everything_.

She just knew that it _had _happened, that there existed a bright, golden line in her life that separated everything into two distinct sections: before Rachel, and after Rachel, and that things had changed for the better as soon as that line had been crossed.

It was as if everything on the "before" side was cloaked in fog, all hazy, grey, and murky. She could recall sadness, and anger, and confusion, an ache of helplessness that had pained her for days on end. There were bright spots amid the cloudiness, of course – Brittany. Quinn. Her _abuela_, when she had loved her.

_Abuela. _The word might as well mean "pain" now, instead of "grandmother."

There had been other friendships on that side of the line, of course. Friends who had attended birthday parties when she was a little girl, and then much different ones who had attended much different parties when she got older. The innocent touch of a girl's hand on her shoulder, declaring lifelong loyalty with the certainty only the very young know, mingled far too quickly with the less innocent touch of a boy's hand elsewhere, trying to make her feel things she couldn't and never would, no matter how much she tried to convince herself she wanted to feel them.

She had loved to sing, even then, but she hadn't understood _why_, entirely, until she saw and heard Rachel sing, and then she knew. In that moment, seeing the girl with the long, lustrous brown hair close her large, luminous eyes and _merge, _somehow, with the song she was singing, become one with it, connecting everything inside her, all that she was and hoped to be one day, with the melody, in a stream of sound that wrapped itself around her and then reached its arms out to ensnare the listener in its powerful embrace, Santana _knew. _She understood, finally, and she longed to feel that embrace again and again, because she recognized the expression on Rachel's face as she sang as the one her own face wore whenever she, too, connected her voice and her soul with a song.

It was the release of pain, the absolution of sorrow, the negation of years of hurt and bewilderment. It was knowing, in those moments, exactly who she was and what she would one day become, and no one and nothing could touch her then.

It was _freedom_.

It was the perfection of her being, spilled out into the air like stardust.

Maybe _that_ was when it started. In that darkened auditorium, with the only light in the room directly above Rachel, bathing her in an almost ethereal glow, and the sound of freedom and escape everywhere around them.

**part two**

The first time Rachel ever saw Santana Lopez, the cheerleader was walking down the hallway, flanked by two blonde fellow cheerleaders, and all Rachel could think was that she looked like a dark angel, a former demon still just slightly too wild for heaven to tame completely. There was a haughtiness and an arrogance in her expression, for sure, but Rachel could see the pain and uncertainty that was not quite hidden behind that mask of cold dismissal, and the fear behind the flash of anger in her eyes when she'd caught Rachel staring.

Words had been said then, vicious and cutting, but strangely, Rachel felt hurt not for herself, but for the girl who had said them. She wondered what it was inside Santana that made her lash out that way, made her feel like her survival depended upon keeping everyone but Quinn and Brittany more than an arm's length away.

She felt an acute, sudden pain upon realizing that she wanted nothing more than to climb inside Santana's heart and fix whatever damage had been done to it, because, well, _someone _should. No one, she declared silently, should have to live her life feeling like a cornered animal, snarling and slashing at anything that got too close.

Weeks passed, and things continued on in much the same way they had the first time their eyes had met. Rachel stared, transfixed by the beauty and the pain she saw in Santana's face every time their gazes locked, and Santana hissed and sneered and growled out insults as only she could. But each time, Rachel saw a little more deeply into the girl with the flawless skin and stormy eyes. Each time, she saw the question in her eyes that no one else had looked long enough to see, because everyone else was too fearful to maintain eye contact with Santana for more than a few seconds.

It was plain enough for Rachel to see, and it haunted her days and nights as she turned it over and over in her mind.

_This is not who I am_, her eyes had said. _Help me. Who am I?_

Neither girl could have imagined that they would begin to find out together, after one fateful song was sung in the auditorium, in a moment where Rachel hadn't even been aware of Santana's presence, and Santana had left before she could be seen, blindly stumbling out into the hallway, tears filling her eyes.

**part three**

To say that it was a shock to Rachel, not to mention the rest of the Glee Club, when Santana and her angelic minions sauntered their way into the choir room to audition formembership in the club, would be a huge understatement. It was even more of a shock when the three Cheerios showed themselves to be excellent singers and dancers, and their acceptance into the club was met with great enthusiasm by Mr. Schuester and the rest of the New Directions.

For her part, Rachel had been mesmerized by the way Santana danced, all serpentine and sinuous, as though her body had been fashioned specifically for the purpose of enthralling all who watched her. In tandem with her voice, which was every bit as dark and smoky as her complexion, this made Santana nothing less than the pure embodiment of seduction - pure, heated desire in a cheerleader's skirt.

But there was more to it than that, beyond the undeniable power of Santana's sex appeal (which Rachel had to admit had affected her far more than she would have thought was possible). No, there was something else, something more. For the first time, Rachel had seen something else in Santana's face, heard something else in her voice, watched it expressed in the motion of her limbs: real, honest joy.

The girl had actually laughed, long and loud, when the song was over, clearly heard in the silence that had followed, before the assembled Glee Clubbers had begun to clap and cheer and hoot and scream. Santana's laughter was gorgeous and melodic, and it made Rachel think of a waterfall spilling down, cold and clear, from the top of a mountain somewhere.

It was the most beautiful thing she had heard, Rachel decided, since the first time she had heard Barbra sing.

And this time, when their eyes locked and Rachel refused to look away once again, there was no fear in Santana's eyes, no pain, no uncertainty. Only happiness to be here, now, in this place, where whatever tormented her in the world outside could not follow.

An understanding passed between them then, and then Santana's look changed. Rachel grew dizzy and heated at the way Santana's eyes took her in, devouring her with the intensity of that gaze. No one had ever looked at her like _that_ before, seen her the way Santana was seeing her now. She shivered at the feeling that arose from a place within her that she'd barely ever really thought about before. It felt as though she were burning from the inside out, the flame spreading out from the center of her being to set her skin alight.

Santana smiled – a _real_ smile, not the sarcastic smirk everyone was used to seeing - and she and Brittany and Quinn sat on the three empty chairs between her and Finn, with Santana next to her, then Brittany, and then Quinn taking the seat next to Finn. Santana chatted amiably with the two Cheerios as they got situated, but even as she talked, her hand first brushed against Rachel's, then grasped it in a firm but gentle squeeze. Rachel was too shocked by the unexpected contact to speak or do anything else, and suddenly it was all Rachel could do not to either pass out or run to the girls' room to splash some cold water on her face. She'd never felt anything like what the mere touch of Santana's fingers interlaced with hers was making her feel. It was as though her bones were all liquefying inside her, making her feel weightless, with Santana's long, strong fingers the only things keeping her from floating away.

Mr. Schuester's voice snapped Rachel out of her daze somewhat, as he asked if anyone else had anything they'd like to sing. Finn and Artie moved forward, and soon the room was filled with music once more.

Rachel, however, was lost not in the performance (for once), but in the feeling of whatever it was Santana and her lovely fingers were doing to her hand, sending the most amazing tingles up her arm to travel throughout her body and settle in her lower abdomen. Sound and motion passed by in a blur, and before she knew it, the bell was ringing and Santana was releasing her hand, causing Rachel to bite back a whimper at the loss of pleasant warmth, though it was not enough to cause all the strange and wonderful new sensations coursing through her to stop.

Especially when the way Santana was smirking at her – ah, _there _it was – finally registered, and she realized it was a different kind of smirk, one that was inviting and alluring, not harsh and dismissive like the one she had seen so many times before. And even more so when the Cheerio linked pinkies with her teammates, then turned on her heel and walked away, exiting the room with a swing to her hips that left Rachel's mouth suddenly dry as dust and her thighs clenched together so tightly it was almost painful.

Other club members came up to her with puzzled looks and curious questions - including Mr. Schue, for some reason - but all Rachel could say was that she honestly didn't know what was going on, or _why._ However, what she _didn't _say, regardless of whether she understood it, was that she really, really liked the way she felt right now.


	2. Chapter 2

**all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you) – chapter two**

Santana would not describe herself as a person who was often spontaneous. She had her moments of impulsive action, particularly when her infamous temper was inflamed, but for the most part, she was a planner. A plotter. A schemer. She was proud of her ability to look at a situation and determine how to turn it to her best advantage, whether in class (cultivating good relationships with otherwise difficult teachers), Cheerios (determining which girls might fancy themselves as threats to the Unholy Trinity's hold on power, and thinking up ways to disabuse them of that notion), or elsewhere (how many traffic tickets had she avoided with a wink and a seductive smile at a police officer – she'd lost count by now).

And yet, she had gone into the choir room with no forethought at all, no plan for how to deal with these new and terrifyingly intense feelings she found herself having for Rachel. All it had taken was one look at the girl's large chocolate brown eyes, her dark, lustrous hair, and _oh god _those long, long legs in that short, short skirt, and Santana had been unable to resist the impulse to touch her – granted, in the most innocent way she could think of doing it, but still...she had never felt anything quite like the thrilling sensations that had made all her nerve endings feel as though there were exploding firecrackers going off under her skin at just the simplest brush of her fingers against Rachel's hand.

It was inexplicable. It was unsettling. It was almost beyond comprehension.

It was freaking _fantastic._ It was addictive. And Santana wanted more. Much, much more.

She felt as though she were drunk and high at the same time, that free and unfettered, yet unsure and unsteady on her feet. Rachel Berry had somehow worked her way into her bloodstream, become something like air or water, and Santana knew that she needed, one way or another, to get closer to the girl.

Because she needed to know how Rachel had done it. How she had seen inside her, straight past all the walls and locked doors surrounding her innermost self, right through the anger and the distrust and most of all, the nearly all-consuming fear that lived within her, to the true Santana that lay at the very core of her being. The one that no one had seen since her childhood, not even Quinn and Brittany.

The one thing that she had always thought would scare her more than anything else in the world was suddenly the thing she wanted the most, and she had no idea how that could be. She was actually afraid to find out.

But she was even more afraid of _not_ knowing.

So she had held Rachel's hand, and smiled at her, and then she had let her know what was on her mind in that moment, because while Santana Lopez wasn't always great at expressing things with words, she was in fact _always_ great at expressing them in other, non-verbal ways.

**part two**

Rachel came home from school still in a daze, having walked home through a fog permeating her brain and making rational, conscious thought extraordinarily difficult. She walked up the stairs to her room, where she dropped her bag full of school books and sheet music with a thump, and then dropped herself onto her bed in the same way. She felt exhausted, yet more _alive _than she could remember ever being before.

All she could think about was the warm touch of Santana's hand in her own, and the blood quickening in her veins as the cheerleader's fingers moved against hers. The speed of her heart pounding in her chest, like some kind of bird crashing against its cage after remembering that it could fly, the memory of soaring awakened by the look in Santana's eyes just before she'd exited the choir room, by the glistening wetness upon her lips as they turned up in what Rachel could only describe as a hungry smile.

And in that moment Rachel knew that she would gladly set herself on a plate and let herself be devoured, slowly, piece by piece. She would enjoy every second of it if it meant that Santana would keep looking at her like that, until there was nothing left of her to consume, and she was reborn in the song that would spill from her lips immediately afterwards.

As the song said: something had changed within her. Something was not the same.

In the space of a few labored breaths, in the fire that had scorched her skin and settled way down deep in her chest, her stomach, and elsewhere, Rachel had begun to transform. Something so far inside her, in a place in her body for which she had no name, was working its way out of that place, through her bones, through her flesh, replacing them with something different, something unknown, something wild and dangerous, wonderful and mysterious.

It made her want to sing with happiness, but when she opened her mouth, all that emerged was the panting of her breath and a low, shivering moan as the thing inside her worked its way into her throat, and she knew that her voice would sound forever different to her own ears after this.

**part three**

The expected text messages came through fast and furious when Santana turned on her phone after taking a long, languorous shower (she often did her best thinking in there). Quinn. Brittany, of course. Puck. Kurt. Mercedes. Tina. Even Mike. They were all asking the same questions, and Santana had no answers for them, even after forty minutes of standing under the nearly scalding hot water and letting it pelt at her in an attempt to let the steam draw them forth, as though it were some kind of mystic ritual.

How could she explain anything to them when she could hardly understand it herself? When her thoughts were all a jumbled montage of dark eyes and tan skin and a voice that seemed to draw its power from a source beyond anything on this world?

All she could tell them was that she'd been in an unusual mood, and that no, she had no idea what had brought it on - because she couldn't tell them that she knew _exactly _what had brought it on, and that she knew it wasn't going to pass anytime soon.

Fascination had taken hold, and she didn't want it to let go.

So after firing off one terse reply after another to all the Glee club members who had sought different answers to the intriguing questions pervading their collective consciousness, Santana decided to send a message to the one person who hadn't texted her, biting her lip as she typed it out.

_Hey Rachel. What's up?_

She lay on her bed, phone in hand, resting on her stomach, which felt tight with anticipation. Santana Lopez was nervous.

Oh, hell no. Santana Lopez does _not _get nervous.

Then why were her hands trembling as she waited to receive a reply?

_Good evening, Santana. I am attempting to finish my homework, although I must admit that it has been difficult, as I have been rather...distracted since certain events took place earlier today._

Santana laughed aloud, both with relief at receiving a reply, and amusement at seeing how the girl texted pretty much exactly the same way she spoke. It should have annoyed her, yet she realized that she only found it endearing.

_I know the feeling._

She pictured Rachel tapping her pen against her notebook as she searched for just the perfect words with which to respond, or maybe twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

_Really? I must say I'm surprised. You've always seemed so cool and collected, except when you're angry with someone._

Santana frowned at this as she quickly typed back. _Well, looks can be deceiving._

_In this case, I hope not. At the risk of sounding entirely too bold, I admit that I rather enjoyed the way you looked in Glee today, so happy and free. It was wonderful._

The girl really _did_ see everything. _How?_

_It felt good to let loose like that. Q and Britt had fun too._

_You all will make excellent additions to the club. I'm already thinking about songs that will best suit your individual vocal ranges, as well as ones on which you would harmonize best with other members._

Santana rolled her eyes. Of course she wants to talk about that, rather than about how hot our dancing was.

_I know you're probably rolling your eyes at me for that, Santana, but honestly – the club has been in need of more strong female voices, and yours is particularly strong._

Okay, that's freaky. What, does she have a sixth sense or something?

_I wasn't rolling my eyes at you, but whatever. _

_It's okay. I get that a lot. It doesn't change the fact that I'm right about this._

_So you've just been thinking about our performance? Not about anything else that happened at Glee today?_

Rachel was sure that Santana could see her blushing through the phone, despite the fact that they were only text messaging.

_Well, yes. I mean, no. Not just about your performance, as superb as it was. There are other aspects of this afternoon's meeting that have me...preoccupied._

She imagined Santana reading that and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow, then smirking that...that _smirk _of hers. That delicious, evil _smirk._

_Oh? Such as?_

_You know very well what I'm talking about, Santana. _

_Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Come on. Enlighten me._

Tension coiled low in Rachel's abdomen as thoughts of Santana dancing, Santana staring at her with heat-filled eyes, Santana _touching_ her, invaded her mind. She didn't know if she could actually talk about this with anyone – much less Santana – just yet, but the Cheerio was forcing her hand. She decided to respond as honestly as she could, and hope not to be mocked for it, as she'd been so frequently in the past.

_I don't even know how to address these thoughts. It's like there isn't any language that can adequately express them. It's exciting and confusing and amazing all at the same time._

Rachel sighed, hoping that Santana could understand what she was trying to say, then exhaled with relief when she read the reply.

_Yeah, I get that. Look, I don't know what it means either. I just know that I like it._

Both girls smiled at that. And both of them knew it, each picturing the other's face breaking out in a wide, delighted grin.

_I like it too, Santana. And...I would not be averse to such events occurring again in the near future. That is, if you find yourself so inclined._

_That can be arranged._

_And on that very positive note, I'm afraid that I must say goodnight, or this homework will not get done in time for me to complete my night time skin care regimen before I go to bed._

_Yeah, I guess it's kinda late. See you tomorrow. Sleep well._

_Sweet dreams, Santana._

_Goodnight, Rachel._

Phones shut off and set aside, each girl arose from where she had been - Rachel from her desk with notebook and text book left open and ignored, Santana from her bed, slipping out of her Cheerios uniform and into a tank top and shorts - knowing that the tomorrow into which they would be stepping would not be the same as it would have been had their conversation not taken place.

Each girl looked out her bedroom window, wondering what the other was doing and thinking now, watching the wind move the leaves in the trees.

Things had been set in motion. Changes were taking place within them both, changes that could not be avoided or denied now. Changes that would ripple out from them, out and around them, and the ground on which they walked would forever be shifted.


	3. Chapter 3

**all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)**

**chapter three**

The sun rose sleepily over Lima, and Rachel and Santana rose with it from their respective beds. Rachel practically leapt from under her blanket to start the day with her half-hour elliptical workout, morning skin care regimen and a protein shake handed to her by one of her fathers, while Santana, groaning muffled curses into the mattress from beneath the pillows atop her head, dragged herself into the shower and then donned the armor that was her Cheerios uniform before trudging downstairs to greet her mother with the smallest possible smile and eat the toast with a smidgeon of butter that was all Coach Sylvester would allow her girls to eat in the morning.

The morning was bright and unusually warm for September, but Santana still opted to throw on her letterman jacket before saying goodbye to her mother with a nod and a tiny wave and walking out the door to begin the walk to McKinley.

(Coach Sylvester would approve of the additional cardio work involved.)

She had been looking forward to a bit of solitude on the walk, some alone time to think and breathe and sort out whatever it was she was feeling for McKinley's resident diva, but when she got to the bottom of her front steps, she found Quinn and Brittany standing there waiting for her. Sighing, Santana knew there would be no solitude to be found today. Brittany smiled her usual kind and open smile, her eyes bright and gentle as they sought out Santana's, and of course Santana smiled back, because really, how could anyone respond to Britt with anything but a smile? Quinn, on the other hand, merely narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips into a thin, straight line, watching Santana approach them as though she expected a crack to open in the sidewalk beneath their feet to swallow the three of them whole, leaving no trace, no sign that they had been there at all.

They walked together as they did in the halls of McKinley, with Brittany in the center, her pinky finger curled around Santana's, her other arm looped through Quinn's. Silently, they breathed in the warmth and watched the suburban scenery pass, and Santana was grateful for the quiet, though she knew it wasn't going to last. She was keenly aware that her friends had many questions they wanted to ask, but were either too nervous (Brittany) or too lacking in tact (Quinn) to voice, and Santana was honestly unsure as to whether she had any answers to give that would make any sense to them.

The thing was, as close as the two Cheerios were to her, even they had rarely seen anything of Santana that she had not chosen to let them see. The mask she wore was very nearly permanently affixed, the visage of supreme confidence and complete indifference to the thoughts and feelings of nearly everyone else but her two oldest and dearest friends opaque and impenetrable – and yet Rachel Berry had seen through it so clearly and completely that her eyes had touched her in a place she had thought impossible to reach. It was impossible to explain or describe.

It was inexplicable, yet it had happened; and because of it, Santana now found herself even more drawn – helplessly, inexorably - to the tiny girl with the huge voice. The image of Rachel's face, with those large, chocolate brown eyes and that shy, almost innocent smile, coloring with heat as Santana held her hand, had taken up residence at the forefront of Santana's mind, and no matter how she tried to push it back, to enable herself to think and concentrate on other things, it wouldn't budge.

Brittany was the first to break the silence, as Santana had expected; she wasn't one to let the quiet stretch and linger on for very long, and she asked her question softly, as though trying to soothe the anger she anticipated it would incite. But Santana wasn't angry at all, and it came as a surprise to her to realize this. For nearly her entire life, Santana had responded to questions she didn't like or want to answer with snarls and growls and sharply worded put-downs expressly intended to push the questioner away along with the thoughts and feelings such uncomfortable inquiries inevitably evoked within her. And yet, it didn't make her angry to talk about Rachel, as confused and unsettled as she was about her feelings. Quite the opposite, actually; she felt calm and tranquil in a way that, while unfamiliar, was remarkably pleasurable, and she answered Brittany as best she could, in the simple words and quiet tone that she always used in speaking with her best friend.

Quinn, for her part, was coiled with tension as she listened to them talk. She couldn't see how any of this was possible. Yes, Rachel was kind and sweet and gentle and not unattractive, but this was Santana, the girl whose standards were so high that they were nearly impossible for a mere human to meet – how could a miniature Barbra Streisand wanna-be capture Santana's attention so suddenly and completely? To Quinn, the whole thing was incomprehensible, and in her typical blunt, direct manner, she said as much.

This did manage to raise Santana's ire. Okay, so Quinn's understanding wasn't required, but it really wasn't too much to ask for her other best friend to be supportive, or at least pretend to be. After all, no one had understood Quinn's relationships with Puck or Finn, but the head Cheerio had never been asked to explain them, or herself, to anyone.

Still, Santana found that she didn't have it in her to unleash her anger fully, the way she had so many times in the past. It was as though the Rachel in her head was looking on and taking on an expression of disapproval at Santana's thoughts, at the way she was prepared to go after Quinn with all claws bared and sharpened to the perfect cutting edge. Suddenly, Santana wanted to change; she was exhausted by the anger and the fear behind it, and just wanted to let it go.

Quinn had stiffened, waiting for the verbal beat-down she was sure her words were going to incur, but when it didn't come, she was so shocked that a light breeze could have knocked her off her feet. So shocked, in fact, that she asked who the girl calling herself Santana and wearing her uniform really was, and what she had done with the actual Santana.

Santana merely smiled at that, and counted it as a victory when the Rachel in her head smiled along with her as they walked, and conversation thankfully turned to other topics.

**part two**

Rachel was nervous, and she hadn't been nervous since before going on stage for her first dance competition at the age of three. She had no idea what to expect when she got to school, knowing how curious her friends were about what had happened between her and Santana in Glee. There would be questions, comments, bewildered expressions and puzzled exclamations, and she honestly had no idea how to respond to any of it. She felt as though the once-familiar terrain of the school had changed overnight, and she had no map with which to find her way through the newly rearranged landscape.

Kurt, Tina, Artie and Mercedes were waiting for her at her locker when she arrived; happily, she was slushie-free, so she decided to take that as a good omen, and approached the quartet gathered in anticipation of her arrival with a genuine smile and a spring in her step.

Her smile quickly fell as she was bombarded with questions from all sides, each of them speaking at once, breathlessly, words falling on her head and at her feet like a verbal thunderstorm. Every time she opened her mouth to answer, another question sliced through the air like a ripple of lightning, and she felt overwhelmed. So much so that she didn't even bother to open her locker before turning to run into the nearest girls' bathroom before she embarrassed herself by hyperventilating in the face of her friends' onslaught. She knew they meant well, that they were all concerned, knowing how changeable and violent Santana's moods could be, and they just wanted to protect her and make sure she was all right, but she felt that they had gone more than a little overboard, all ganging up on her like that.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, against the hard, cool tile and wished that she were just as hard, just as cool, but she wasn't and could never be. She was the daughter of two doting, devoted, but extremely emotional fathers, and like them, when it all got to be a little too much, she would retreat and hide herself away to cry out her stress alone, away from the eyes of others.

Then the door opened, and Rachel's eyes snapped open too, immediately meeting the one pair of eyes she actually wanted to see, which were narrowed with anger and as black as storm clouds. In the past, she would have backed away from that look in fear, but not now. Now it made her feel safe, protected.

"Santana."

She found her hands in the other girl's. They were shaking, trembling, and it was all she could do to keep herself standing upright. Santana's grip was strong, but soothing, and Rachel felt her stress dissolving, flowing away from her, as her fingers entwined with Santana's. The anger she had seen in the cheerleader's eyes was not directed towards her, she knew, somehow; it was for the others outside, the ones who had driven her in here with their hallway inquisition. The anger that was now dissipating into genuine concern as they looked at each other, asking Rachel if she was all right. She answered Santana affirmatively with her own eyes and a small smile, which widened at the touch of a long, strong finger wiping the tears from her cheeks.

And then she felt the merest brush of lips on her skin, and a rush of excitement swept through her body. Her eyes had closed again, her breath held still in her lungs.

But when she opened them again, Santana was gone.

**part three**

There was no Glee meeting after school because Mr. Schuester had an emergency meeting with Principal Figgins and Coach Sylvester - no doubt over the cheerleading coach's latest insane conspiracy theory – so Rachel decided to practice in the auditorium, just herself and the piano, as she had in the days before the New Directions had come into being. She had considered going to speak with Ms. Pillsbury in an attempt to try to make sense of all these new and strange feelings swirling around inside her, but then she felt somehow like Santana wouldn't appreciate Rachel talking about her behind her back.

Blowing out a heavy sigh, she sat at the piano and ran her fingers along the keys aimlessly, just letting them wander. She did this for a few moments as her mind clicked through the playlists in her mental iPod, scrolling and scrolling in search of the perfect song to express how she was feeling in this moment. It seemed futile, though; she was feeling so much, so many different things, her emotions all churning around so rapidly it made her a little dizzy.

Then she remembered the way Santana had looked at her in the bathroom that morning, that mixture of anger and concern giving way to a tenderness and vulnerability she had previously only seen directed at Brittany, but somehow even more charged, even more intense – and the song was there.

It was a little dramatic, sure – but Rachel was nothing if not dramatic, after all.

Her fingers arranged themselves over the proper keys, and she began to sing.

_The first time...ever I saw your face..._

As always, Rachel got lost in the song, her eyes tightly shut, her voice filling the large room easily as her fingers moved on the keyboard.

She knew that one day she would be singing in front of hundreds, even thousands of people, but right now, she wanted an audience of one.

She would be surprised, if she were only to open her eyes, to see that she actually had an audience of thirteen: Kurt, Mercedes, Artie and Mercedes, who had come to apologize for the morning's ruthless grilling; Puck, Finn, Mike and Sam, who had merely followed the others, wondering where they were going; Ms. Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester, who had hoped to surprise the club with a late meeting after the Spanish teacher's meeting with Coach Sylvester and Principal Figgins had ended abruptly with the Coach screaming and nearly assaulting the principal's terrified new secretary...

...and Brittany, Santana and Quinn, who had quietly made their way down the aisle to the front row of seats, standing and gaping in awe at the power of Rachel's voice, and the waves of emotion radiating from her as she sang.

Brittany and Quinn took turns staring first at Rachel, and then at Santana, who was crying. Actually _crying_.

In the entire time that they had known her, from the time that they were very young, neither of them had ever seen Santana Lopez as much as sniffle. Not when she fell down and hurt herself, not when her mother yelled at her for doing something wrong, or when Coach berated her over a less than stellar Cheerios practice, not even when she was hit on and insulted by boys she had flipped off and rejected many times before.

Not ever.

Yet here she was, standing in front of the stage with large tears streaming down her beautiful face, making no attempt to hide them, seemingly uncaring that there was a crowd of people filtering down the aisles to join them, all of whom could clearly see her trembling like a child as she watched Rachel sing as though her song had the power to save the world.

Well, not _the _world.

Just _her _world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and / or favorited this story so far. Your support and encouragement are deeply appreciated. Reviews and PMs are always welcome, because feedback is essential for writers to grow, develop and improve. There's a lot more to come in this story and in my other story, "Best Summer Ever," plus I have new stories in the works as well, so stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4

**all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)**

**chapter four**

Santana had fled from the auditorium, too overwhelmed by the depth and power of her own feelings – feelings she didn't even fully understand – to stand there even a moment longer. Rachel's voice continued to echo in her ears even as her feet pounded down the hallways and out the door and onto the sidewalk. She ran and ran and ran, knowing all the while that she could never outrun her fears, and her pain, and most of all, her own heart.

She imagined Rachel's eyes on her, watching her run the entire way home. Those unbearably kind, knowing eyes, that saw into and through her and _knew _her somehow. Knew her fear and her pain and her anger, all the things she tried so hard to keep hidden from everyone around, yet they were as clear to Rachel as if Santana had laid them bare to her, offering her own soul in exchange for Rachel's esteem, her affection, her..._love?_

Such a small word. Four letters that meant everything in the world to Santana. All her hopes and dreams for the future, wrapped up in two consonants and two vowels that contained everything she held dear, and everything she was afraid of losing if she were lucky – and cursed – enough to have that bright and shining gift bestowed upon her.

In Rachel's eyes, and in her song, were Santana's salvation - and her complete destruction.

For her part, Rachel had come off stage bewildered at first, seeing Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury and all the members of New Directions standing there, applauding and whistling and hooting and hollering – all of them except Santana, with Brittany and Quinn standing at the front, exchanging looks of sadness and confusion.

The space between the two cheerleaders told her everything she needed to know, and she sighed before smiling her best show smile at her friends and teachers, basking in their applause even as her insides twisted with hurt for the one she had wanted to see here the most. Brittany told her that the song had made Santana cry, that _no one _had ever seen Santana Lopez cry before today. It was still unbelievable to all the Glee Club members, and several of them still couldn't quite convince themselves that they had really seen what they'd seen, shaking their heads and speaking to each other in hushed tones about it.

The song had been meant to soothe and comfort and encourage the girl, and it seemed that it had done just the opposite; yet Rachel knew there was more, much more, to it than that. Santana was a complex, many layered person, which was what made her fascinating and compelling to Rachel. There was the surface bravado, the tough girl attitude, the open, unapologetic sexuality - and then there was the fear and uncertainty, the pain and anger hidden inside and beneath. Rachel felt more determined than ever to find a way to get inside the girl's heart, to heal what was broken and enable her to embrace life fully and honestly.

Santana had flopped down on her bed and groaned. She knew that Coach Sue was going to have her ass tomorrow for missing practice today, but she found it hard to care.

Staring at her phone, she read through the text messages she'd received from Quinn and Brittany, and even Kurt and Tina and Mercedes, all asking how she was, if she was okay, if she needed anything. It was nice to know that they cared, and she answered everyone with a simple _I'm fine, thanks for asking._

Then her phone chimed with a new message alert, and she saw at last the message from the one person from whom she wanted to hear the most.

_Rachel._

She tapped the message and laughed in spite of herself when she saw how long the message was, in the perfect full sentences that read the same way the girl spoke. Others occasionally found her verbosity annoying, but Santana loved it because she secretly loved words the same way Rachel did.

_I'm sorry if my song upset you. Yes, I was singing it for you, though I didn't know if you'd be there to hear it, and I never expected to have any other audience for it. It was meant to provide you with solace and comfort, wherever you were, not to make you feel badly in any way. It's just that I was thinking of you, and when I do, it makes me want to sing. I know you can understand that._

Santana's eyes filled with tears, and the words on the screen blurred. She wiped them away and wondered again how it was possible that Rachel knew just how deeply she felt things, when no one else in her life could even guess at it.

Sniffling, she typed out her reply, not intending to match Rachel word for word, yet unable to keep herself from doing so.

_I didn't mean to run out of there the way I did. While you were singing, I wanted nothing more than to get up on that stage and kiss you, swallow all those words into my mouth and breathe them back into you. I really did. You make me feel all these things I never thought I could, and I just don't know what to do with it all. You're like the ocean – deep and beautiful and incredibly dangerous. One wave and I could drown in you. I was so overwhelmed that I had to leave – I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry._

Rachel's eyes widened as she took in Santana's surprisingly poetic words – especially the part about wanting to kiss her. She felt heat rise in her face, flow through her body, as she imagined Santana's lips on her own, and the thought made her squirm in her chair. While Rachel made Santana feel emotions that she'd never experienced, Santana made Rachel experience physical sensations that she'd always heard others talk about, but never felt herself until now.

It was like she was a flower that had never been taught how to bloom, spending its whole life sleeping in shadow, and suddenly, the sunlight was hitting just the right places, and her leaves were uncurling and stretching and hungry to feel more, more, ever more.

_Oh, Santana. There's no need for apologies. It's perfectly all right to feel whatever you're feeling. You have every right to your emotions, to embrace and explore and own them, wherever they lead you. And if they lead you to me – I'll be right here waiting._

It was hard for Santana to believe that such kindness as Rachel showed her actually existed in the world, and yet here was the evidence, right on her screen. Again, it was as though Rachel knew a secret path into her heart, casting aside all barriers, never fooled by false trails leading away, always finding that one true place within, where all her mysteries lived. She never judged, never spoke unkindly, even knowing what kind of dark things existed in those deep caverns.

_I don't know what I'm doing most of the time; just trying to hold myself together more than anything else. But I know I'm drawn to you in a way I can't even begin to explain. You know me somehow, even though we've barely ever really spoken before now. Yet the way you looked at me in the hall the other day – that said everything, and told me that I need to know even more._

_Then come to me. I'll tell you everything. Just don't be afraid – even though I am, a little, of what might happen when you do. What will probably happen. Yes, I'll admit to being scared, but I'm eager too. There's something inside me that you've woken up, and now I don't want it to go back to sleep ever again._

Rachel bit her lip after she tapped "send" and her words, her bold, bold words, showed up in the green bubble on her screen. If she wanted Santana to live honestly, then she couldn't be anything less than honest herself. Still, these were things she'd only just learned to say to herself out loud, and only here, in the safety of her own room. She'd told the other Glee Club members that she didn't know what was happening between her and Santana, but now she was sure of the mutual attraction that seemed to be growing by the minute.

_I'll never admit this to anyone else, but I'm scared too, but it's a good kind of scared. All my life I've lived with fear, and anger over that fear, but you make me feel like I can get through it. For the first time, I feel as though I might be okay. Like I might actually one day be free of everything that's been holding me back. I don't know what it is you've done to me, but please don't stop._

Santana paused, let out the breath she'd been holding. She'd never spoken so openly, so honestly about herself before. Yes, it was freeing, but also terrifying. She was giving Rachel Berry the means to completely eviscerate her if she so chose. This was a level of trust she'd never allowed herself before, but somehow she knew that this thing between them couldn't ever grow without it.

_I won't stop if you won't._

Rachel closed her eyes. Images of raven black hair and caramel skin and red, red lips brushing against her own invaded her mind, and she gasped at the rush of heat that gathered

right at the very center of her being. Leaves uncurling, reaching. Bright, bright sun. She drank in the light, reveled in its warmth, needed more.

_My fathers are going away for the weekend._

The rest of the invitation didn't need to be written.


End file.
